


Maintenance

by Insecuriosity



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Abuse of Power, Frame-care, Frame-maintenance, Garrus-9, Necrophilia, Other, Prisoner abuse, Semi-Necrophilia, Spark-extraction, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, halloween 2015, the Rig - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5082940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/pseuds/Insecuriosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most dangerous and unpredictable mecha are not kept in a prisoncell. Instead, their sparks are extracted, and contained in the Rig, kept under strict surveillance.</p><p>Their frames are kept elsewhere, and someone needs to keep them in good working order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maintenance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charivari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charivari/gifts).



> The reason an OC was chosen for this piece, was because I felt that none of the currently existing canon characters would be in the position that this fanfic describes. I would rather use an original character than mess around with a character's canon personality.

Garrus-9 was quiet. The night cycle had begun, and all the cell-lights had powered down, leaving the prison halls dimly lit. 

Hoardback disliked the quiet that always came over Garrus-9 in the night cycle. It had that unreal quality of a silence laden with sounds- like a crowd of hundreds standing in utter silence. Hoardback was the only disruption as he wheeled the cleaning-supply cart down the hall, and optics followed him from within the cells as he went. 

Two guards were standing at the end of the hallway, both enduring their shift in silence. Hoardback had done his fair share of guarding, and he knew there was only so much time you could spend with someone without running out of topics.   
He came closer, and Stack-up let out a short huff as he saw Hoardback's cart. “You got stuck with frame-duty again huh? I think the roulette has it out for you.” He said.

Hoardback shrugged and mumbled a non-answer, pushing the cart past him. He didn't feel like talking, and judging from the lack of correspondence, Stack-up didn't feel like it either.

Hoardback turned a few more corners and passed by the last cell-area, heading deeper into Garrus-9. The door 'prisoner possessions' was only a few feet away from his stop. 

Hoardback halted the cart and filled in his code on the doorpad. He walked inside.  
The room before him tasted stale, and the stink of neglected frames was left prominent by the lack of airvents. Hoardback closed the door without looking back, and locked it for good measure. A flick of the lightswitch bathed the room in a dim light, showing five neat rows of berths, all sporting a Cybertronian frame. 

“Cleanup time again.” Hoardback said in the silent room, and he pushed the cart forward to the first frame. 

There weren't many mecha that were considered dangerous enough for spark-extraction, and even in war many of the berths remained empty, waiting for a prisoner's frame to fill it. Mostly, it was easier to shoot the mecha that made too much problems. The people lying on the berths here were the rare cases that were too valuable to kill, but too dangerous to keep online.   
Hoardback reached out to one of the frames, and traced his fingers over the slight trace of grime that had built up since his last visit. At the edges of the armour, the mech's paint was bubbling and flaking, the tell-tale signs of a rust infection setting in. Without the inner self-repair systems, it only took a few decacycles for the first decay to set in. 

Hoardback traced a path up the mech's arm, and grazed his fingertips over the large canon that the mech sported. The metal was cold and dead. Hoardback grabbed the mech's hand, and began testing the joints. It took effort to bend the mech's fingers, and the stale lubricant struggled to ease the movements. 

“Hmm...That's a little stiff.” Hoardback muttered. He grabbed the greased rag from the top of the cleaning-cart, and began rubbing over the joins, massaging the machinery to peak efficiency. There was not a trace of rust on the rag when he pulled away, and he wiggled the now-smooth fingerjoints for good measure. Hoarback considered himself to be very thorough in his job. 

“Now for the... leg joints-!” He pushed his hands underneath the mech's massive pedes and hefted it into his arms, letting the pede rest against his shoulder. Slowly, he began bending the leg, forcing the stuff hydraulics into motion and checking for any signs of rust flaking out between the armour plates.   
It was almost therapeutic to do these slow and careful tasks. Hoardback finished the legjoint treatment, and slowly worked his way up the body. Hips, backstrut, wrist joints, elbow joints, shoulderjoints, neckjoints, and then a quick brushing to get rid of the dust. 

Hoardback always kept the helm-maintenance for last. The red optics of this frame never quite shuttered, and he wiped a small brush over the open machinery to clear away the dust. It was still a mesmerising sight to touch such a sensitive part without a single reaction. Without the light of a active optic, Hoardback always felt like he was looking straight into the hollow of their helm. 

He moved to the next frame, and repeated the process. It was not long before he was finishing up with the very last body in the room, and Hoardback leaned his hands on the last berth in the room. 

All the mecha in here were alive. Technically speaking. The frames were empty and locked down for security measures. Their sparks were just separated from the frames, kept safe in the Rig under strict supervision. 

They were alive, and it was this small detail that allowed Hoardback's fingers to search for the manual opening clips to the chestplates. 

It was all safer this way. Less condemning, less... stigmatised. 

He didn't know the name of the mech on the slab. Garrus-9 operated on Prisoner codes rather than names, and Hoardback didn't like knowing who he was touching anyway. He had his own names for them. 

Hoardback watched the metal chestplates fold away, and he swallowed away a lump in his intake at the sight of the hollow and empty sparkchamber. Slowly, he reached out and traced the dead metal with his fingertips, touching sockets that should have been bursting with the electric energy of a spark. He grabbed a wire, and looked at his lover's face. 

The mech remained completely still and stoic, the half lidded optics looking back at him as though dreaming away in pleasure. 

“I-....is it...” Hoardback didn't finish his sentence, and let his head fall onto the other's chestplate. The metal was cold and inert under him, and the edge of their sparkchamber pressed against his forehead. “Of course it is.” He whispered to himself. “Of course it's okay.” 

He pulled back, and began massaging the mech's triple-armoured thighs. He stroked his fingers over the sensitive seams, and then ever so slowly began to work the mech's legs apart. Hoardback was feeling heated, and his cooling fans spinning into activity was the only noise in the room as he drew closer to his lover. His plating felt electrified where it touched the cool armour of the mech beneath him, and he shivered, crawling on top if the mech.   
His lover's legs shifted off the slab as he moved, but Hoardback paid it no mind. 

“I want-...You need to look at me.” Hoardback said, and he fumbled to turn the mech's head towards him. The mech's optics were shuttered, and he pushed one of the shutters open with his thumb, barely feeling the thin plate of metal against his finger. When their gazes meet, Hoardback can see his inactive brainmodule through the darkness of his optics.

Hoardback vented out a breath of relief he hadn't known he was holding, and let his own forehead rest against that of his conquest.   
“You know just what I need.” He said affectionately. 

He carefully placed the mech's head back on the slab, and scooted backwards, dragging a hand over the other mech's sides until he reached the pelvic plating. He hooked his fingers into the manual catches, and with a soft click the mech's inactive equipment was exposed to the air.   
The spike was retracted, unusable in this state of frame, and the valve sat below, simiarly inactive. 

Hoardback let out a shuddering breath, and checked the door out of a nervous habit, even though he knew that nobody would be entering. He reached for the cart and fumbled for the tube of lubricant hidden amidst the anti-rust solvents.   
He squirted the lubricant into his hand, and then carefully brought his fingers to the inactive valve underneath him. The folds parted without a single twitch of movement, and allowed him inside without any sign rejection of refusal. His lover's expression remained blank, even as he pulled out his fingers. Hoardback's spike was already out of its housing, and he quickly stroked the excess lubricant over it before guiding it to the slack mech's valve. 

He took a tight grip on the cool kibble of the inmate, and found a position that allowed him to look right into the empty sparkchamber below him. 

He began thrusting forward, and moaned, his vocaliser pinching off the sound into an embarassing note. Every move drew him closer in, and Hoardback couldn't stop himself from trying to pull the inmate further onto his spike. The valve was almost bitingly cold around his spike, and the valvelining was rough where his fingers hadn't been able to spread the lubricant.  
It didn't take long before he was spilling his transfluid inside, trembling all over as he did so. 

Hoardback let himself fall forward, and he welcomed the press of icy cool metal against his cheek. “That was good...” He groaned. “So good...” 

He let the heat from interfacing dissipate, and then slowly dismounted from the mech's frame. Hoardback swallowed away the first heavy lump in his intake as he watched transfluid drip out from the inmate's valve.   
He moved back to the cart and got out a throw-away rag, mopping away the evidence around the mech's equipment. Then, he fiddled with the pelvic-panel locks until he got them to snap closed, and wiped off the last remaining drops of evidence. 

It wasn't really wrong what he was doing, Hoardback thought. He could never stop the same justifications from running through his head after a round of 'cleaning duty'. The inmates wouldn't ever know what happened, and it wasn't sick as long as the people he interfaced were still alive. 

Hurriedly, he piled all the cleaning equipment back onto the cart, and began wheeling out of the room. He didn't look back as he unlocked the door and flicked off the lights.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was kind of experimenting with this. I wanted to write a character with a mental deviancy that is usually considered to be vile and demonic, without demonising the character himself. I looked up the wikipedia article of Necrophilia and went from there. 
> 
> I feel like there could have been more guilt written into this, but honestly I'm tired of looking at this, so here you go. Early halloween thing. Enjoy. Leave comment, make me happy.


End file.
